poetry & things


Walking home

Today walking the cut off road, home

watching clouds and birds disappearing

all these moments of coming, going

I came upon feathers of a flicker, brightest orange

and further on the road, his body

and wondered of his dying

and if he was freer in death

or in flying

Of my own life I pondered

the fleeting moments of freedom

so much lost in the sinking sun of youth

difficult to find amidst a hurried life

fewer and farther in between

to breathe, a restless mind

settling in a silent stream

and when shall come the hour

a moment to be free

Walking with you

Trilliums (haiku)

petals, leaves in threes

looking triangularly

do not pick them, please


Deathly quiet all the sky, distant black, pitching

birds, sudden screeching turns, disappearing

windows rattled, beneath banging shutters

awaiting the pain of centrifuge

a house, like glass to shatter

shards of cutting winds

Summer song

Woods, the birds on branches, swing

words, the forest trees, will sing

of summer winds, a leafy song of green

blue the sky is painting, not a cloud

only the sparkling of sun, a song

of mosses warmed, a fragrance undone

black and fuzzy yellow bees, circle hypnotically

tiny hunters, drunk with pollen, disappearing

in the tiger lily towers, and fly they

home to serve a sacred queen

all the day, the sweetness

of gathering honey

Only a moment

Soft the silver needles

falling to the ground, tiny boughs

wet with misty raining seas dampening

dark the forest trees, late in summer

call of early morning

blue the sky, blue the salty cry

of sailing seagulls

this breadth of day

brief a moment

hovers, then

flies away

Of petrichor

after the storm

an efflorescence

still drips the air

still the rain so near

only, just here

earth of fire, quelled

where a storm seeps in

copper veined, iron blood

burning blue this place

of redolent warmth


In the air so still

In the warmth of a summer forest

I sat in the mossy scented air so low

quietly still, as silent raindrops fell

my woodwind breath of music, floated

as I remembered how to breathe

awakened in my soul, a well of joy and sorrow

it came in waves, to flood the heart, it’s empty halls and chambers

a wave of grief soon surfacing, and I with nowhere else to run

was made to feel, letting the wave take me, a wet washing of tears

cry of locked away fears – deep to feel

of my hidden soul, a truth revealed

how sacred a moment, a place to heal

Gentle the summer rain

It came softly warm, mist of fragrant showers

bright flowers of parchment petals, drank

of sun, of moon, of rain

a world glistening, silent

as perseid shooting stars

falling from a sea

of heavens

Cry of the soul

There is only a flashing, of soul

a susurrous echoing, hidden, hushed away

in the running down of slipping sands and fall of dreams

an ocean of water washing waves, bury and uncover

one cannot ignore it’s constant call

an ache, beautiful a sorrowful longing

deep, calling you home


you are gorgeous in turquoise blue

a swirling of oxidation, transformation of warm reds

you are ocean water colors, deep in rocks, in canyon waterfalls

like the changing light of eyes, chameleon colored

ancient, elemental


A vacant place

no more, your crushing words uttered

only the vacancy of a hollow left shuddered

a final gasp of dead air swallowed

our friendship lost down an ever

silent river, only thoughts

circling, meander deep

they bore their way

into the heart

an ache

a conversation in my head

Ilion Gray, such a cool name

I love the name Ilion – Ilion Gray

I wonder is it his real name

it looks like it could be, his name

though I’ve never known an Ilion

never read poems by any other Ilion’s

his name fits perfect, his poems, exquisite

and today I see him posted on the front page

a prince of words, a master, a sage

I think he lives in NY, probably downtown

I bet it’s loud, I love the way he writes like that

I wonder what kinds of things he does, in summer

or winter, I know he has a cap, but does he have coat and gloves

I wonder how many times, he fell drunk in love

he probably reads poetry on a stage, a pastiche word parade

a lyrical brigade, loaded and fired, finishing with a bow

yeah, I bet Ilion is writing a killer poem right now


a million petals ago, in colored meadows

stems, gathered in far off fields

windy, wild born

bright pods of summer

split in August suns

earth bound, await

September floods

cool, foggy rains

cycle of rebirth

wildflower seeds falling

back to earth

When we were endless green

When we were endless green

When we were very far

and there were never any roads, no star lights strung, to follow

only a winding path, a branch to grasp

a place to fill the hollow

blue the summer, with drowsy daisies came

petals, petals, we drew circles round the sun

gold spun, our halo heads of pollen

gold, the bees of sleepy flowers, fallen

they, seeking clover grass, heaven

days we lived deep in hills

we were endless green, in countries never mapped

stretching past the farms afield, in other worlds

borderlands, too far to see, beyond the gray of days

and we were ever free, in the shining silver

of our hallowed hills of sun

When I sleep in forests

Eyes, crystalline, shine awake

newborn suns stream, blue light

mists of fog breaking through

cool breath, of forest’s wet

steaming bark, clouds of water smoke

trees breathe deep, drinking dawn

mosses warm in wooded sun

raven call penetrates the soul, an ageless echo

pulse of forest drums, awake my heart

in birded rhythmic song, connection, meditation

I am home, I am home

Waialea bay

How the rains came

wild blue in waterfall tears

magenta orchid clouds to wear

Oh, the tropical winds

leeward, an ocean blowing in

plumeria flower waves

a blissful turquoise bay

lay of fragrant floral sands

warm breeze to carry

this wild ocean breadth

far and off to foreign lands


Breath of life, it is a wild ocean

always a tide coming and going

in this place, it does not linger long

never holding on, only drifts quietly into night

into stars, into fleeting sparks of fire flies

or in the night waters, a ghostly glow

of phosphorescence, a transient trail

of luminescence that soon

fades and reappears to light

the deepest depths

of sea

Tlingit man

In Klawock stands seven totems

and a madman, chanting under ebon skies

he is embedded in the cedar wood, he is connecting worlds

a master carver, of language without words

of the raven clan, he is tracing ancestry in the wood

seeking the old ways of eagle, wolf and bear

born of water, amid the realms of earth and air

his spirit runs with salmon.

the wall

decorated, concealed

whitewashed, peeled

years of little earthquakes

will shake you

she is framed art hung, unsung

unknown to anyone

jilted, wilted

a still life flower

hanging ever crooked

upon the wall

dedicated to all who struggle with drug addiction, especially to a certain person in my life

the night garden

In the night garden, star flowers linger

long before dawn, before the sun

vines climb, with ivory flowers hung

bringing light, where the moon glows pale

flowered jasmine is sweet beneath the air of fire

with lanterns lit in floral scents

glowing through diaphanous petals

here, where the earth shines like heaven

and blooms not unlike the stars.

The GMO field of spoils

Grow organic gardens, untainted seeds, saved and collected

plow the dirt, rich red earth, autumn’s bountiful birth

food pure and wild, to eat – a way of life!

we cannot thrive in unearthly soils

in their poisonous, GMO field of spoils

awaken from our sleeping denials

autism, sickness born in the chemical fields

all the killing of you and I

Summer’s drift

That time in summer’s red, the hilly sands I climbed

willow grass woven white with yarrow, fragrantly entwined

my eyes softened in sea drift’s tide, of puddled shallows

ocean sang in rising waves, wild sea kelp tangled

sun slept scarce hours, it’s shining seaward beams

that only leave as the final silhouette

vanishes into night’s dream


her face, moonlight, diffused

pure art, creamy, curved

hands of finest sculpture

alabaster smoothed

delicate strands, her hair

of softest gold

floats, she dwells in stars

Venus, high priestess

magnetic force above

ever invincible

ruler of love


Crushing you’ve come, traipsing through

my fruits and flowers, to stalk after dark, my heart

disguised in scented garlands, your secret blood and art

do you think me cruel, maybe a fool, or maybe

just a lover of summer white moons

with stars and tricks and the air too hot

my mind is asunder, I’ve fallen under

hypnotic spells you weave

and now it’s really

far too late

to leave

Sometimes, traveling

When I am traveling, long

the days and sweat of trains, window games

play of strangers, lonely stray

and I with no escape, but my mind to fly away

will meditate, sink deep into my seat

to disappear, into other worlds

far from my destination

derailed from expectation

like the mad seeking of the sun

when only moons will come

awaiting a friend, a hand to hold

the lonesome of traveling alone

Shadows of summer

Watching long shadows

some slipping under fences

tricky summer suns

like to play me dumb

or glare me, half blind

sometimes I run

or sometimes walking backwards

looking where I’ve been

in the heat of day

only a dream to sway

under the cool

of moons

Red + Gray


it is the clay of hills

cathedral clouds of sunsets burning

the weeping that calls you home

it is the fire within


it is the ashes

blowing from your hands

the sands slipping, back to earth

a soul sifting, a balanced scale

awaiting your rebirth

Only to sing

Some say

she is lost to writing poems

snippets, little vignettes of beauty

so much nature inspired, obsessed

with green, botany driven desires

forever in skies, blue, or black with stars

meteor showers, falling, melting

like the liquid silver, red sea of mars

crashing waves, her days

tossed, tumbled, stumbling onto poetry

there is no fault, in words

no shame to be made

would be a sorrowful price to pay

she is writing to find

some truths, a sleuth, a seeker

of going within, without doubt

writing to find herself

most days searching out signs of life

to feel what it would be like, to be

in trees, in leaves, to sleep in green towers

of garden lily bowers

to finally dream in lucid colors, surreal

climbing invisible ladders

in orchards of apple blossom Springs

to sing, sing, sing


Night skies

In the evening, by the sea

subtle ripples, bright as liquid silver, flash

an ocean of color, to drink away the sun

a line of light fades into skies of night

from the call of deepest dark

a birth of luminous stars

such blue, white fires, only burn

no cares, no seasons do they discern

they have come and gone, without our knowing

they will never sleep, only change in cosmic storms

burning away in the vastness

of other forms

love and the stars

All the air alight, sparks fly

lightning, touching down

the falling of skies, falling of stars

dumb, I am mad and beyond

too far off course to find

the mere constellations

I’ve ever known

Lost poet

Finding your poems, there, all but faded

dust of pages, your fleeting song of days

secret book of you, lost among the ruins, laid

and there I stayed, many an hour

and could not tear away

In Mexico

The furniture was Oaxacan wood

finished in plum, red blood

with brightly painted finials

haunting little animals

a lazy, creaking fan

whirred on, above

in gasping bursts, too tired

to cool the room

and only moved

the paper bougainvilleas

glowing – orange, peachy, red

my feet, ever ecstatic to meet

the cool of clay saltillo tiles

red faced, happy to have escaped

into this mirage, my one thought

being margaritas


Breath like wind

always coming, going

disappearing words written on a mirror

as you breathe, so shall love leave

words will reappear amidst foggy steam

only traces, of a heart remain

this longing, this rebirth and dying

brief our days, love we cannot grasp

nothing won or lost – all is impermanence

Hashtag train

Hash tags

follow you, follow me

ensuing slighted poetry

fingers tricky, click, wizardry

1000 followers, look at me

oh, I see, now this site is about popularity?

no thanks, not for me.

it’s no matter if a poem is lame

what we’ve got here is a numbers game

so jump on and ride that

hashtag train


A wave, a black flood pooling

storm of sorrow leaving

deep wound of darkness reigning

teardrops falling to the ground

your buried silence


garden of the sun

a garden fence of wooden slats

giant poppies bloom and fill the gaps

brightest petals, orange

white birds of summer

will mend, with twine and twig

windy nests of a northern winter

today, only an indigo sea

of lavender bees, will hum

like gold, beneath the sun

no frowning clouds will come

only morning glory flowers will bloom

blue as sky, blue as heaven

Fly from darkness

The bridge, well worn, with slipping wood, crossing over

with secrets hidden, nearly fully under,

rainy days so long.

Her head – a flutter of lily moths, emerging, searching for air,

from a stifling room she fled, dark the forest bled

whispers, wings of white clouds through trees

swirl, drifting amidst dancing fields

on this day, learning

to be free.


In your hands

I shall place

sweetest flowers

little yellow suns

to hold you


upon your palms

I will map days

follow hidden paths

traced through trees

to reach

quiet rivers

holding your hands

at the border’s edge

free dive, trusting

letting go, to fall

our two souls

deeply connected

Chrysalis (10w)


of a lonesome heart

wrapped, spun and torn apart


Woodland child, you have lost the moon

to walk a path, dark of fallen trees

sorrow of your sacred homeland camps besieged

the old ways buried, deep the red earth swallowed

all the precious souls, have flown far into the endless night of eagle

feathers swirl, scattered at this ancient altar

In the ashen air

always your heart remains, your wisdom blood breathes

like the sun of fire, your dance of vivid painted colors

surreal dream of Tishomingo, trading beaded leathers

through the ages, children rooted in trees and fields

medicine men smoked in visions of waterfall suns

all of our days, deep this bloodline runs


You come skipping off the curling waves

salty sea air swirling sand at my feet

in humming songs through shells and logs

restless wind, from where have you come,

and where shall you go?

All my days, soon blow away

only a restless wind

ever seeking

Wild iris

Iris, purple colored with yellow ruffle smiles

blooming wild at green forest pond

slender necked, stalks and leaves

sway of graceful woodland swans

When I go to the sea

When I go to the sea

I carry an empty vessel

gathering salty air to breathe inside

with grains of sand in my hands

some seaweed or shells,

you can never tell, driftwood

or broken bells

all the day, a sway and pull of tides

the breadth and depth of ocean

how the pounding waves carry

my empty vessel away


Wind shadows blow swift

cool smokey air lifts

clouds of dream, adrift

that come and go

Iridescent wings, sing

crows of summer

a murder in winter,

a frozen mirror,

melting in


Emerging greens, soiled leaves

grow skyward

to the sun

Blossomy buds have sprung

with fallen petals on the ground

fading into earth

changing forms

that can’t be


The way home

Orange, pink sunrise came over dawn’s moss green hill

soon a thousand birds all singing to the sun

orchid flower, soft butterfly touching down

paper petals white, float emerald lily pond

Quan Yin, in her stillness

looking on

To the earth and sky

we all belong

to water and fire

moon, stars, sun

with all elements

we are one

When we feel our

true connection to all

then we are finally home

The unraveling

Did you see

how the sky was always changing?

Did you feel life’s beauty, blissful innocence rearranging?

turning into days, days, days

void of blue, void of sun

how the rains swell the veins, in ways

one can no longer ignore

life blood barely breathing

a child screaming

to be heard

Do you feel how fear stole away

your purity of heart, your breath, your life,

your words?

With love, fearlessly reclaim

your truth, your voice, your heart

What is that? Who is that?

now is the unraveling

now is the untwisting

now is the time

Return to North Kohala

Is it tomorrow yet?

a day when I fly away

over a boundless sea of changing tide

beyond this twist of worried mind

beyond lost days of winter’s reign

Is it tomorrow yet?

a day when I go seeking my truth

connecting to the calling of my soul

awakened to find I am awash

in nature’s garden paradise

Lost and found upon the sand

knowing true paradise

is soulful, deep


On this mountain

On this mountain

comes alas, all the gush

and hurried buds of Spring

in bursts of pastel colors

petals drift and float serene

labyrinthine dawn’s waking river

Along this mountain wall

a million scented petals spiraling upward

escaping on the rising, warming thermals

entwined they fly fantastical with birds


desert flowers

abloom in red fire clouds

molten skies sweep over barren sands

shining suns of silver white bones

cacti glisten, soaked in afternoon storms

yesterday and tomorrow, hungry

where desert rabbits roam

and drown themselves drinking

bluest oceans

Little songs

In the gathering fields

wild grasses brush across

our warm brown skinned legs

stopping only for brightly colored flowers

indian paintbrush, red as blood

with yellow specks of sun

a summer meadow of swirling birds

speak in secret soulful words

pensive penetrating songs

circling round our heads, whistling

bird songs, that carry us home

Dream time

She left

memories of smiles and hearts tucked into a letter box

for you to open, days when you forget

who and what you truly are in this world

nights when dark starless skies

reign heavy upon you

She left

a message ” know you are never alone “

stars and beams of radiant light

will fill your head and heart

streaming soothing music of violins

someone singing songs of love

feels the same, in any foreign language

Is it you, deep in lucid lands?

you’ve lost your heart and cannot find

but for wandering fully awake

in realms of dream time

Child of the Hills

Back where I used to roam

beyond the mulberry hills

running from sudden black storms,

torrential August monsoons

soaked thoroughly through

Oh, to be a motherless child of the hills, again

quick to dance away the depths of lonely

always looking to the sea for distraction

and possibility

After a storm, I listened for life

how the hilly flowers shined, alive with bees

the birds and buzz all about the field

in a world, that was everything real to me

and made all the difference, in knowing

what it was to be free

While glints of gold skimmed the horizon

I’d dry my shoes in the last hour of the sun

dreaming to live right there, where I belonged

dreading the long dragging back home


Magenta ruffle of petals

frilly fire of fragrance

deep dream of pink

wafting through my sleep

morning breeze of ocean

blooms awash in lilting

watercolor reds

Breath and pulse

Our breath billows, mingles with the expansive sky

arms, willowy – dream to fly

heaven is nearer to heart than mind

how dear this sacred breath divine

invisible force of life

we are breathing together

throughout these moments in time

feel the breath

and pulse of life



it is an ocean

a siren crying

a haunting rainstorm

which floods

the soul

with tears






it is the sky









Black lava road

Red fire

hissing down green mountain

a burning blackness

of lifeless trees

molten river bleeding

to the sea.

Black lava road, winding wild

an ashen path to the

cerulean sea.

A fleeting place

As oceans swell in ceaseless waves

love will empty and spill

into a fleeting place

we are ever


to fill

Secret code of birds

Breathless sky

how silent clouds collide

leaving me to charcoal gray

teardrops will rain


Tomorrow how the Spring

sweetly sings of cloudless skies

blossoms will rain, fragrantly

the orange tree

and still

no matter the weather

gorgeous birds unwavering

will sing in secret codes

seemingly knowing

more than I


Plume, it is soft upon my lips

sometimes I am found

in newborn, downy feathered love

soft pillow of dreams

my soul sinks deep


One with trees

White snow of petals

heaven drifts silent through the garden

Spring maple, catkins green aglow

love potion of pollen snows

barefoot – grounded in softest newborn grass

Breathing in…..

to be one with earth and trees, planted, rooted deep

awakened from hollow sleep

hands pressing into the spirit of Spring

touching the sacred, unseen

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